


As You Are

by veridical



Series: When They Were Three [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Fingering, Hurt/Comfort, Improper usage of desks, M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, emotional robots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 07:09:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3125513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veridical/pseuds/veridical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are patterns: Magnus overworks and overthinks, Rodimus seeks and offers comfort, control comes and goes. As long as they get it, it's alright.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As You Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pony_bot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pony_bot/gifts).



> In my head, this follows directly after Over Your Shoulder. However, I don't think it's necessary at all to read it to get this; there's only a handful of scattered references which stand well enough on their own. I think. Basically, this is after Luna-1, but before Dark Cybertron, and Rodimus and Magnus have already come to terms with some things.
> 
> Originally based on a prompt from [big-stupid-jellyfish](http://big-stupid-jellyfish.tumblr.com/), "Rodimus kissing Magnus' fingers". Thank you for holding my hand.
> 
> And I finished this, finally, as a little late birthday present for [ponybot](http://ponybot.tumblr.com/)! :)

Magnus checked up with his internal chronometer and vented a sigh. He was definitely working over time now – something he promised Rung not to do, even if he argued that it helped him cope. The psychiatrist had simply shook his helm and reasoned that it could only help in short term.

There was something else – something he had not yet told Rung. Working inevitably led to thoughts he'd prefer to forget: all that happened on Luna 1, Titans, Legislators. Chief Justice and the part he played in his plans.

 _You are not to blame_ , Rodimus had said. _You could not know._

But he should have.

And thinking of Rodimus led to other places. Their last encounter left him embarrassed – confused, uncertain, blissful – but also, somehow, more at ease than he had ever felt in weeks that followed since the Lost Light left the Miracle Moon behind.

Magnus didn't know what to make of it – Rodimus, of course, had a tendency to leave a confused jumble of feelings in his wake, at least where his second-in-command was concerned. 

But this.

The door chimed, and Magnus cringed, expecting someone to berate him for working late, and immediately wondered when did he start to worry about such things – such things as others criticising him. When did he begin to try to appeal to what others thought?

For some reason, he imagined Ratchet. Laughing, shaking his helm, _”Too long ago,”_ he'd say.

"Enter," he said, bracing himself. It was Rodimus, of course. He smiled when he saw Magnus.

 _This_ was new; or maybe it wasn't. Maybe it just took him too long to notice.

He didn't know what to think of the fact that he distinctly wished it would continue like this.

"Knew you'd still be here," Rodimus noted, almost a boast.

Where else could he be, really. But Rodimus seemed, in a way, _glad_ to find him here, and glad that he knew his second well enough, even if the fact that he worked late hours was probably obvious to everyone who spend more than five clicks in Magnus' presence.

"I... was planning to go," Magnus said. It was almost true. Rodimus took a step closer, his field reaching out tentatively, in a manner so unlike him, and Magnus reached back. Was it automatic or conscious, he was not sure. He wanted to reach back, he wanted their fields meshing, entangled, and the realisation was as startling as it was expected: new, but following the recent pattern of discoveries.

Rodimus grinned, apparently satisfied with his response, and immediately flopped himself down on Magnus' desk – not directly in front of him, but a bit to the side. Magnus stared at a couple of datapads crashing to the floor, almost entranced. He wanted to reach for them, but he also had to deal with his commander, who had... decided his desk was a good place to have a sit down.

A direct approach, then.

"Rodimus, what are you–"

"Shhhh. See, you _are_ overworking. If you were resting enough, you would have reacted much more rapidly." Magnus wanted to protest that it was more because he had no protocol for improper usage of desks, at least not readily available at the moment, but Rodimus continued, " _But_ , since I am not your doctor, I will let it slide for now."

And then he fell silent. Magnus wondered if any explanation regarding Rodimus' current position was forthcoming. Strange, but he did not mind either way. He listened to the sound of their engines, different, but still somehow in sync, and felt everything slowly fading away.

"Let me," Rodimus said suddenly, reaching for his hand, and Magnus complied. "I _will_ let it slide, and I won't even tell Rung or Ratchet, but you have to let me help you relax."

 _Re–_ A thousand possible definitions for the word rushed through Magnus' mind, with the level of probability as being said by Rodimus attached, and he tried to eliminate those that did not fit, before figuring out that he could simply _ask_.

But Rodimus was... just touching his hand now, and Magnus recalled the way he held his captain's hands not too long ago. And then– he initiated _it_ , whatever it was, that time. Just because... because it seemed _right_. Because reaching with his field and clutching the other's hands had not felt enough anymore.

Rodimus seemed content merely holding his hand, for now, and it felt unexpectedly nice to have his captain's attention fixed on himself, and the tentative, yet sure strokes (caresses, Magnus' vocabulary centre supplied) felt even nicer, but Magnus was still tense, and although he tried to hide it, drawing his field in, the other mech still probably felt it.

He didn't push. He didn't move closer, nor clutched his hands, nor pressed in with his field, he just– opened up. And Magnus couldn't figure out his own jumbled feelings, but Rodimus' emotions, strong, almost palpable, sure, as they always were – were seeping to him via their interlocked electrofields. Rodimus didn't _force_ him to relax, the way he had been certain to do just some time ago.

But he showed Magnus that _this_ , this made him content, made him relax, just being here. Their only point of contact was the hand Rodimus was holding. It dumbfounded Magnus, that it could be enough.

"Rodimus–" he said, voxcoder filled to the brim with static, and the other mech looked at him, raised the white hand resting in his own, and softly pressed his lips to it.

Magnus felt as though his engine and his vents just stopped. Rodimus slowly took his mouth off, and Magnus did a sharp intake.

"Yes?" Rodimus whispered, mouth still so very close to his fingers, venting warm air over them.

"Y-yes," Magnus forced out.

Rodimus was almost smirking as he pressed his lips to Magnus' fingers again, but it looked soft, somehow, not his usual self-assured manner. The kisses were about as light as the touches had been, growing slowly more firm, but never pushing, never insistent.

Magnus was not sure if he wanted it to grow into something more, if _he_ wanted to push, or if he wanted this to continue forever. He could not get used to this – he could never get used to this. Rodimus had turned his hand over and was now venting the air, already warmer, against his palm. Magnus shivered from the unknown sensations, just as Rodimus moved back to his fingers, pressing long, lingering kisses along them, stroking the white hand with his own digits at the same time. It was slow, and unhurried, and something in him was starting to ache.

It was too much: Rodimus' attention, the touches, overwhelmingly tender, the warm air; Magnus tried to get closer to the captain, made a move as if to reach for him with his other, free hand, but Rodimus grabbed it, pressed both of his hands together. "Let me," he asked, once again. "Please, Mags.” He didn't specify.

And Magnus, who undoubtedly could overpower him if he wanted to, who was stronger and had hands about twice as large– Magnus let him.

Rodimus was holding both his hands now, stroking and kissing them, a bit desperate now, though just as careful. His lips left a trail of kisses on one of Magnus' fingers, then the other one, and the next. He raised his optics and looked at Magnus, smiling.

Magnus' voxcoder emitted a strange sound. In another situation, coming from another mech, he might have called it a whimper, or perhaps a sob. Rodimus' optics widened slightly. Magnus could see him calculating, could see it: he'll get it any second now. Why that scared him, he didn't know.

He's already opened up so much. This should be nothing. It wasn't that he was scared Rodimus would use it against him, but pity, he feared. Pity. Disinterest. Re-evaluation.

And because he was scared of what he might see in Rodimus' optics, he dimmed his own, and this time, when he tried to close the distance between them, Rodimus let him.

Rodimus' mouth was about as soft as he remembered, and he sighed into it in relief and immediately regretted it. But the other mech did not seem to mind – Magnus thought he might have sensed a smile in their kiss, but he was not sure. His lips were tingling pleasurably, and though he still was not really feeling confident, it felt _nice_. Undoubtedly, nice. Magnus could only hope that it was the same for Rodimus.

Their hands lay, joined, on the captain's lap. Rodimus would occasionally stroke his fingers, teasing the tired joints with his smaller fingers. Magnus could not understand the apparent fascination with his giant blocky hands, but the neverending touches made his spark ache from their tenderness – yet another display of affection. Another one that Magnus couldn't bear.

And yet again, it prompted him to act. Magnus scooted closer, and Rodimus' kneepads hit his chestplate. He wanted to do something, he wanted Rodimus closer, wanted to touch him and maybe, _maybe_ be affectionate in return, overwhelming as it was. Freeing one of his hands, he tentatively tried stroking the back of the captain's leg with it, and suddenly, Rodimus was pressing even closer, whimpering into his mouth. Magnus repeated the action with his other hand and felt Rodimus' legs – his whole frame – shudder in his hands. The sensation sent warmth running through his entire system. Magnus shivered. Acting on pure instinct, he pushed his fingers deep into the seams on the underside of the other’s knees.

"Ahh," Rodimus ex-vented a breathy moan, and Magnus opened his mouth in kind. Rodimus froze for a nano-klik, and then, then Magnus felt the insides of his mouth warming even more, and a soft glossa meeting his own.

He almost leaned away, back from the heated kisses, growing more desperate by the minute, from the touches, from the _attention_ , but Rodimus' hands caught him, a soft grip on his shoulder pads and the EM-field lashing out comforting strokes. Ultra Magnus was glad he didn't need to explain that he didn't try to back out of this out of disgust or unhappiness, but rather– rather–

"Magnus. Magnus," Rodimus whispered when their lips weren't touching, kisses more soft and fleeting now, and almost evasive, making the blue mech reach for him in return, hands back on that enticing spoiler. The captain arched in his hands, pressing closer, and proceeded to kiss the life out of Ultra Magnus.

Or it seemed like that. His hands were exploring the upper chassis of the mech before him, stopping to tweak the seams he found, stroking the neck cables, discovering the soft mesh under his arms that made Magnus' plating rattle.

Rodimus' knees were hitting his chestplates occasionally, and the prong on his armour would press into Rodimus' hood, and it was getting ever so uncomfortable, because it seemed as if the captain wanted to get closer and closer still, kisses growing harder and desperate.

Magnus wanted him both to slow down and keep going, unfamiliar sensations flooding his processor with messages and warnings. He gave back as good as he could, stroking Rodimus' spoiler tentatively.

"You can... ah, harder, Magnus, I won't break," the speedster mumbled between kisses, smiling, and pressed his lips softly to Magnus' jawline and then, surprisingly, gave him a kiss on the nose.

Magnus shook his helm. His hands were roaming uselessly on the other's back. He couldn't.  _Couldn’t._

He lowered his hands.

There was a brief surprise in Rodimus' optics when he looked upon Magnus, and it _hurt_ , but then the smaller mech raised his left hand and pressed it to Magnus' cheek.

Rodimus couldn't hide the wince, and Magnus turned his face slowly, as if daring the other to stop him at any moment. Then he pressed his lips to the numbers carved on the yellow palm.

His captain hitched a vent – light, barely there, but still audible. His other hand clutched Magnus' left shoulderstack desperately and he quickly lowered his already dimming optics. His electrofield smarted, a deep, festering wound.

He never moved his left hand. The kiss Magnus pressed into it was light, but it was there, certain as the mech himself.

Magnus would never let Rodimus doubt him.

Rodimus mumbled something just as his forehelm hit the blue mech's chestplate. Something like "supposed to be about you". In that moment, Magnus almost wished he weren't himself, so he could find the right thing to say. The inspiration that caught him a couple of times the past few weeks seemed to have left for good. He could barely find the right words to talk to Rung these days.

He let his hands slide down to the captain's sides, better to support him. He had no desire to remind Rodimus of his failures, not right now, not with Rodimus clearly unable to forget them for one moment. Two times in the past three days alone he had seen him clench his left hand into fist, pressing fingers into his palm, expression grim and determined.

Both of these times left Magnus aching, unable to articulate why. Rodimus did – and herein Magnus let his self-imposed ban on idioms slide, – he _did_ screw up, and it was right for the captain to feel guilt, and remorse, to always keep his failings in mind in order to change.

Yet, seeing and feeling Rodimus completely crushed, helm down, hands weak with no support, clearly in pain, the very picture of a broken mechanism – it hurt more than Magnus would've thought, more than he could bear.

He thought he heard Rodimus muttering something against his chest, and that was it, that was too much. He remembered Ratchet's words: _you can do whatever you want_. He just hoped that Rodimus wished the same.

He pressed a final, closed mouthed kiss into the centre of that palm, then took the captain's right hand and proceeded to do the same. Rodimus jerked his helm up in surprise.

"W-what–"

"Let _me_ ," Magnus intoned, throwing the words back at Rodimus unabashedly.

Rodimus took a shuddering vent. "Okay. Okay, I– I trust you."

The feeling that spread through Ultra Magnus was warm and comforting, and when he bent again to press his lips to Rodimus', he tried to pass that on to him.

The speedster arched into the kiss, his hands freezing in the air for a second, then settling on the other's shoulder stacks. Slightly more confident in what he was doing, Magnus pressed on, forcing Rodimus to lean away from him bit by bit until he lay on the table. The former Enforcer slowly finished the kiss and backed off a little.

In the silence that followed, Magnus heard Rodimus' fans gradually getting louder, spinning faster. And then, just in front of him, for him, _because_ of him, a smile bloomed on the captain's face. Rodimus raised his helm slightly and pecked Magnus on the nose (there, the ex-Enforcer began to suspect some strange obsession with his main olfactory sensor). And then he laughed, tugging Magnus to him, pressing kisses blindly all over his face.

Magnus had absolutely no idea what to think, except that the mood swings could possibly merit a visit to Rung. Not that he didn't already have some reasons in mind.

He definitely needed to stop thinking of medics when he was alone with Rodimus.

Thankfully, the captain seemed eager to help him forget everything else, because his mouth had finally found Magnus' own, and this kiss, unlike the ones he peppered all over Magnus' surprised facial expression, was long, sweet, full of gratitude and pain alike.

Both were Rodimus to the core; Rodimus as he had come to know him during the last year; both had nearly undone Magnus.

"You keep me going," Rodimus whispered, suddenly, and kissed him even harder. Magnus ended up pressing into the orange mech more and more with each clever sweep of glossa in his mouth, causing Rodimus to writhe under him.

Then the meaning of the words finally caught up with Ultra Magnus. He broke the kiss and stared at Rodimus, who was panting, all shining optics and slightly grinning mouth.

He could not find words, so he bent his helm and pressed his lips to the neck cables, displayed so perfectly under his gaze. He felt the hands clutching his shoulder stacks, grasping at them, fleeting touches making Magnus gasp, heated air escaping his mouth in a sudden burst.

Rodimus arched with a breathy moan, and Magnus used the opportunity to get his hands back under the spoiler, rubbing his fingers there, first softly, then getting bolder, all the while pressing soft kisses to the captain's neck cables. It seemed to work. He _had_  to rely on chance, there was no other option, no set regulations. Every thing he did here was new; he had to rely on Rodimus to tell him – show him – what was the right thing to do.

Judging by the noises he was hearing, Magnus expected to find Rodimus with his optics dimmed, but when he raised his helm, he saw them shining as bright as before – or brighter, fixed on him, as if the captain never intended to take his optics off him. His mouth was slightly open, and the faceplates were screwed up just a little, as if in disbelief. The sight was setting a heavy, quiet ache on his spark, so far inside all the armours. Magnus had to admit that he also was experiencing difficulty fitting the latest development into his perception of reality, but the shuddering frame under his hands and lips felt more than real. Helped him not to space out too much, as well.

Rodimus seemed to realise it, too.

His hands now wandered all over Magnus, but much more purposeful than before. Still, reaching some of the parts must have been difficult, so the blue mech tried to move in as close as he could without making various interesting dents in Rodimus' armour.

A sharp sensation brought him out of the concentrated attempt at keeping the mech under him safe. Belatedly, Magnus realised it had come from Rodimus finding one of his antennae.

He shivered.

"Always wanted to do this," the captain informed him, matter-of-fact.

Magnus tried to stroke the yellow spoiler again and discovered that his hands were shuddering very, very lightly. But not so lightly as to go unnoticed by the smaller mech.

Rodimus smirked. "And this."

"Ah," Magnus said. "Said" was a very liberal application of the word, considering the static that escaped him. Rodimus' fingers were now stroking his neck cables – a terribly sensitive area, as Ultra Magnus was now discovering, usually hidden by the back armour. By bending his helm down to Rodimus' chassis, he made the area fair game without even thinking about it.

He heard rather than felt his own fans finally start, realising how out of touch he still was with the armour. Maybe it was not such a bad thing after all, that flood of new experiences lately, if only because it let him learn something about the armour. About Ultra Magnus. About himself. For it was himself, here, with Rodimus both teasing and receptive, eager and hesitant, desperate and tender.

Still, he wondered what – who – the captain saw when he looked at him.

"Magnus. Magnus, hey." Bringing the captain into focus, the ex-Enforcer caught a new look: intense and calculating. Before he had a chance to react or think about what it meant, Rodimus brought his hands down Magnus's sides, making him lean slightly out of his seat and then nearly fall onto the mech under him from the trembling that wrecked his armour.

"I'm not convinced you're paying enough attention," Rodimus stated, fingers playing on the seams of Magnus armour under his arms, but as self-assured as it had seemed, there was tenseness in his frame and some of the uncertainty seeped from his electrofield. Magnus hastened to reach back without even thinking about it. The captain sagged in his arms and then, inexplicably, pressed in with his fingers.

Magnus _gasped_. By now he was completely out of his seat, hovering over the orange frame on the table, and he still had no idea what to do– but then it caught his attention that his hands were still gently holding Rodimus by the spoiler and... oh. _Well_. Wasn't it all about giving back?

He wasn't sure when this turned into a competition, although he had some worries that with Rodimus, everything became one after a while.

He started with tracing his fingers along the lengths of the spoiler, careful not to let Rodimus go. The speedster seemed to barely notice it at first. _Good._ Magnus took his time exploring smooth lines, pressing in under them, first shortly and lightly, then harder.

He practically felt the control going back to him, Rodimus' touch slowly losing its strength, until he wasn't doing anything besides wriggling and trembling in Magnus' hands. He wasn't sure he had ever heard his own fans so loud. The armour's fans. Not his.

Magnus tried not to let it derail him, grabbing Rodimus harder in an attempt to focus on here-and-now. His captain sobbed and tugged the blue mech to him, pressing in with his mouth, missing Magnus' lips.

Magnus was glad to guide him, bringing one of his hands to the other mech's faceplate and keeping it there. Rodimus vented into his mouth in gratitude, his glossa soft and yielding. Magnus finally took his arms away from where they were caressing his commander's spinal strut and rubbing the soft sensory mesh under his spoiler, and Rodimus fell back onto the table with a loud crash. He must've looked worried, because the speedster immediately smiled and reached for him.

It was welcome, but the ex-Enforcer had other things on his mind. He shook his helm, and Rodimus stilled, uncertain. Magnus slowly dragged his hand down from where it had been cupping his captain's helm until it settled over his hood. He scraped lightly with his fingers. It felt warm, not hot like the rest of his frame, warm and full of energy. Rodimus opened his mouth, but no sound escaped. Suddenly Magnus became aware of how still everything was. Frozen, the blue mech could have sworn he felt the chestplates under his hand shift slightly, growing warmer, the energy drawing him in– and he snatched his arm back.

When he looked at Rodimus again, his optics were wide, blazing blue. He was still gaping, and the expression was too unfamiliar and frightening for the second-in-command to allow it, unfamiliar on Rodimus' faceplates, but frighteningly recognisable. He suspected he didn't look much different: open, laid bare, wishing and straining and longing, an avalanche of feelings barely contained, barely containable in his field. They were, Magnus was realising, much on the same footing here; he knew this already, knew it from the moment Rodimus first came into his office with markings on his left hand. Maybe the captain was more experienced at this – whatever he might call it, – maybe he wasn't, but it turned out he still didn't know what to say about his spark reaching out to Magnus so openly.

So he did what has become quite a habit lately, for when he didn't really know what to say or how to act: he bent forward and kissed Rodimus. It felt like second nature by now; if it was not in any guidelines, it should have been. It was not that bad a habit, either. He could get used to this. The thought made his mouth curl before he could stop it, just before he pressed their lips together. Rodimus answered hungrily, eagerly, his whole electrofield flaring with emotion and arousal barely kept in, making Magnus shudder. Some sound escaped him, low, embarrassing and long-overdue. Rodimus arched in his hands, heated plating scraping against Magnus’ own frame. It felt— it felt so overwhelming that Magnus couldn’t stop himself from pressing Rodimus into the desk in an attempt to stop the sensations.

The captain moaned, optics dimming, hands flailing a little before he grabbed his second’ shoulder stacks.

"Magnus, if you... if you don't stop– frag, don't stop, please," he begged when they parted for a moment.

The ex-Enforcer found that he had no intention of stopping, even as he was becoming too aware that they were still in his office.

"I am worried about the desk," he told Rodimus earnestly.

"Frag. The. Desk," the captain said and hooked his legs around Magnus' midsection, trying to drag him even closer.

“Maybe not the desk,” Ultra Magnus said, quietly.

Rodimus stopped his eager movements. Their faces hovered mere centimetres from each other, so Magnus had to adjust his focus a little— but he wasn’t imagining it, Rodimus looked completely stunned.

“Really? You— you actually are going to?"

Magnus froze up. “Is this… is this not— I thought that was where this was going." He didn't, not really. He didn't really think at all, starting from the moment Rodimus walked in here today. Rodimus would say he's done nothing but think, but they were all distractions, miserable thoughts rooting in his insecurities, in the fact that being near Rodimus was the most excruciating, exhausting, mad and wonderful thing that he had experienced; the fact that he was so used to resisting this, resisting, refusing _everything_  that the moment his barriers came down, they came down all the way. Suddenly, there was nothing stopping him from– from making out with his captain laid out before him on his office desk.

 _You can do anything_.

Rodimus’ mouth split into the biggest grin Magnus had seen, probably.

“Yeah. Yeah, it was. I just wasn’t sure— you know, because your armour—"

“What about it?" Magnus asked quickly.

“Well.” Rodimus’ optics glinted. “Just how equipped is it?"

“…Ah.”

“I kinda wondered, you know,” his captain continued.

“Did you now,” Magnus mumbled before he could stop himself.

“Yeah,” Rodimus said breathily and dragged him into another kiss. Magnus relaxed instantly, falling back into pattern that was becoming so very familiar, mouth against mouth, a regular circulation of breath between them, – and missed the moment Rodimus laid a possessive hand on his panel. A wave of air escaped him, and he felt the speedster’s lips curling against his.

There were now fingers dancing around his panel, and Magnus couldn’t move for the fear of crushing Rodimus’ entire arm under his giant frame. The captain was still kissing him, wet and hot, as if he wasn’t doing something terribly distracting with his hand, stroking and rubbing and scraping alternatively. As if a bad joke about the desk had been all he needed to go over to this. Magnus tried to reciprocate, stroking the neck cables, the thighs, the arms – everything he could reach. Biolights were flashing enticingly somewhere out of his area of vision, and he suddenly imagined how it would look and feel if it was dark in his office, with optics and biolights being the only source of light.

Then Rodimus traced the outlines of his panel with a single finger and it snapped open. Magnus sucked air in, fully unprepared, yet suddenly glad that they were pressed close like this – this way, he did not have to bear Rodimus immediately scrutinising him with his gaze. It didn’t mean, however, that the captain couldn’t study his interfacing equipment with his hand. The touches were light, at first, but did not feel like teasing. Magnus tried to detach himself to remain in control, collecting information about Rodimus' actions to better analyse it later.

He imagined recalling all of this later and almost shuddered.

He was quite certain what to expect right now, even if this seemed like an unusual position to do it in; so he braced himself. To his surprise, Rodimus barely touched his spike, though it still cost Magnus a hitch in his vents. The captain's hand was now tracing his valve ridge in slow circles, sometimes taking a break to scrape the sensitive area. He couldn’t understand this— his spike seemed the obvious choice, and at the very least he had expected Rodimus to open his own panel first. He... wanted Rodimus to open his panel. He didn’t know how to voice that request.

Magnus discovered they weren’t even kissing any more – him venting air into Rodimus’ mouth could hardly be called that. The blue optics were staring right into his, yet he couldn’t decode the expression on the faceplate. Rodimus' field was unusually quiet, though he could still feel its presence, comfortable and comforting. Magnus tried to relax, just as he felt his valve flutter in response to the touches. The speedster felt it too, of course. He had to.

Easy now; the only thing he had to do was to remain as he was. That, and not fall onto Rodimus. Who didn't seem fazed in the least by the prospect of impending doom in form of his second-in-command crashing him with his frame; even though he had to understand he was bringing this closer and closer to reality.

Rodimus smiled sweetly and curled up one of his fingers inside Magnus' valve. It was a sharp, sudden feeling that he wouldn't really call pleasure – and yet, conscious of the fact that it was Rodimus' finger inside him, Rodimus, whose fans were working beyond full power, Magnus let out a garbled burst of static and arched a little over the bright orange frame in response; their forehelms pressed together now. The captain grabbed onto a blue hip with his other hand, bringing him closer, slipping his finger deeper in. It went slowly, but surely, there was hardly any resistance – _because the inner walls were slick_ , Magnus belatedly realised and panted hotly, dimming his optics, but not before he could see and finally understand the expression on Rodimus' faceplate: wonder and desire, mixed together.

The captain was still stroking his thigh, motions falling into the same rhythm with which his finger was rubbing the walls and lighting up the nodes inside Magnus’ valve. His thumb found the external node– something Magnus had not even realised was there, but why wouldn't it be? He was shuddering when Rodimus slipped another finger alongside the first, and there it was, a spike of pleasure lighting up his nervous circuits, a wreck passing through him. He opened his mouth, not even knowing what he was going to ask for. No sound escaped.

"Oh, Primus. Wait," Rodimus suddenly said, voice filled with static, and Magnus onlined his optics out of surprise and jerked away. "Wait. I got an idea. Part your thighs."

Magnus hardly even thought before obeying, finding that Rodimus had already lowered his legs from where they had been hugging his frame. The captain nudged his thighs even wider with his knee, and Magnus noted that his panel was still closed. He wondered what it would take; if Rodimus was just that good at controlling himself in that department. Now that the speedster had his thighs pressed together, not wide open like they previously were, the idea of just touching him there seemed more inconceivable than before. He looked up and found Rodimus studying him intently, propped up on his elbows.

He bent down and kissed the captain on his helm, on his optics, on his nose, mirroring what Rodimus himself did not that long ago, not trying to press him down this time. His hand found Rodimus' left one. Their fields shimmered and tangled, and Rodimus seemed glad to simply press his lips to whatever part of his second's helm was available. Figuring out the actual interfacing part was… difficult, and long, and better left to his commanding officer; this, Magnus could savour. At least before Rodimus' other hand found its way to his valve again, three fingers pressing in easily. He felt lubricant escaping it, landing, probably, onto one of Rodimus' legs.

He caught a mischievous glint in the speedster' optics and tried to focus on licking his neck cables. Rodimus moaned softly and removed his hand, and then raised one of his legs, causing Magnus to grind against his kneecap. It was colder than the rest of Rodimus, and he gasped, feeling the valve walls contracting, eager for something, anything. He laid a hand on the orange hood again, without even thinking about it, and Rodimus fell back onto the table, suddenly gasping for air. His leg pressed into Magnus' valve and the underside of his spike.

It was like that, with Rodimus' spark energy thrumming under his palm, Rodimus' kneecap rubbing against his valve, that he found overload. Rodimus kissed him throughout it all, his hand finding Magnus' spike and coaxing it out of him.

This was not how he imagined it to be; not that he thought about this beyond a vague image, and only during the past week. His thoughts, short and a bit shameful, featured him pressing Rodimus against a well-closed door, bending down, stroking his sides, but nothing beyond that.

Once, he thought of Rodimus kissing his facial insignia, a hand against a small green hip. It was a fleeting, stupid idea. He couldn't let go of it ever since.

"And here you go again," Rodimus said. Magnus bristled at this, at first, but found him smiling. His left hand, his _marked hand_ was stroking the inside of the blue mech's thigh. "Sometimes I wish I could just turn off your brain module for a while."

"I apologise," Magnus replied stiffly, without really meaning to. He stepped closer, and Rodimus stilled. He was sitting up now, vents blasting hot air on Magnus' chestplates and midsection. This close, it was easy to see that he was trembling. Magnus dragged his hand down from the speedster's hood until it reached his panel, which snapped back immediately, at the first touch.

Rodimus dropped his helm, sucking air in and mumbling something unintelligibly. Magnus stared at the stiffened spike and past it – he realised belatedly Rodimus was soaking his desk, and it made him a bit hesitant, until the smaller mech whined, close-mouthed, and grabbed his wrist, letting go almost immediately.

But Magnus was pretty sure he got the message. The least he could do was do the same to Rodimus as he did to him; the problem was that he didn't really want to do the least. Staring at Rodimus, all red and gold, sleek lines, optics dimmed somewhere between agony and bliss, he was struck with indecision of a different kind: having some ideas about what to do, but also wishing to do everything, all at once. It was frightening and intoxicating, and before he could even think clearly, he took up Rodimus' hand – the one he wasn't still pressing into the desk, the one still sticky from– from _him_ , – and kissed it, just the way Rodimus did to him earlier.

The captain widened his optics; and when Magnus lingered for a nano-klik, he breathed out, "Please."

Magnus stuck out his glossa and licked.

He did not believe that Rodimus' hands were insanely sensitive, but the speedster still moaned and arched so high that Magnus had to grab his waist just to keep him on the desk. He licked the same finger again, slower and more thorough this time. He was still holding the yellow hand by the wrist lest it fall down, but despite the tremors passing through his whole frame, Rodimus didn't seem inclined to drop his hand any time soon. So he let go and returned his attention to the lower part of the captain's frame, discovering that the mess had already made its way to the floor.

"Primus," Rodimus vented, helm clacking against Magnus' chestplates, once again effectively distracting his second from the thoughts of his now-dirty office.

Magnus noticed the increase in his own spike temperature again and hesitantly stroked the area around the valve. He did not actually wish to approach this with clinical precision, but he wasn't sure he could do anything else. Rodimus didn't seem to mind, if the shallow little breaths he let out at his second's collar were any indication. Magnus suddenly imagined him licking the area and gulped.

"If you don't– if you don't do anything soon, I might just do it myself," Rodimus panted out. "Seriously, don't hold back, I can't..."

Magnus gave a small nod, and then circled the valve ridge, gathering the lubricant on his fingers. It did not feel particularly disgusting, just wet. Once he was sure it would be okay, he slipped a finger in. Rodimus pushed his hips into his second's touch, silently begging for more. Magnus carefully pushed the finger further in and then curled it without any prompting. Rodimus moaned lowly. His legs rattled where they were pressed against Magnus, and the ex-Enforcer let out a soft grunt. His plating still felt over-sensitive, or maybe it was just getting back to the state of heightened awareness. He felt the urge to press Rodimus into the desk again, or just clutch his frame in his hands and explore all the ways he could make him moan, – and at the same time he wished he could have the smaller mech pressing into him completely of his own accord, just lying by his side. So this was a nice compromise, in a way – except that he hated compromises, hated the feeling he got when he agreed on something he didn't feel all that sure about.

This couldn't be about a compromise. It had to be simpler than he was making it: here Rodimus was, soft moans and warm hood and leaking valve, and Magnus looked at him, and he, and he–

Rodimus looked up, and for a moment Magnus thought about leaning down and kissing him, again, again, because it could not be enough, because it was the only thing he could even think about, but Rodimus' quaking hand was still mere millimetres from his mouth, and so he put his lips to it, and then took one of the fingers into his mouth.

It had a weird taste, which was when he remembered once again that it was with this hand that Rodimus almost brought him to overload. He licked all around it, trying to fall in rhythm with the finger that was slowly rubbing the inner walls of the speedster's valve, reaching steadily further and further.

"M-more," Rodimus begged, and Magnus carefully slid another finger in at the same time as he took another one in his mouth, glossa swirling around in. The captain pushed weakly with his hand, trying to move his finger further into the wet heat, even though it was trembling just as much as his hips. He was alternating between gasps and whispers of something Magnus could not hear. He caught the word "good", and it certainly felt like it.

The hand that was resting on Rodimus' waist somehow ended up on his spinal strut, then wound up higher, caressing the spoiler again. It seemed a wise decision, as another twist of Magnus' fingers got the speedster falling back right into it, and then pushing into it. It took mere moments to get him writhing between the firm, steady strokes inside his valve, warm wetness enveloping his fingers and the hand exploring all the sensitive areas of his spoiler.

Rodimus moaned brokenly, trying to press forward and back without any actual pattern. Magnus wasn't cruel, but he also wasn't very good at dividing attention. It didn't seem like the captain needed much, however, not by this point. He pressed his whole hand flat against the plates surrounding the valve opening and the sound of wheezing fans and Rodimus babbling something against his plating filled his audio receptors.

He was certain he was already burning hot himself, again, and so he let the wet fingers, long since clean, slip from his mouth and finally pressed his lips to Rodimus'. The speedster kissed back like Magnus was the only energon he'd had for orns and fell apart in his hands.

Magnus felt Rodimus' valve clutching his fingers and gasped into his mouth, but still caught his trembling frame when Rodimus failed to catch anything to hold on. He didn't take out his fingers until he was sure it was over, and then they parted, weak tremors still passing through them both.

"I got you," Magnus mouthed against Rodimus' helm and stroked his shoulders. It felt important to say, even as the haze that seemed to surround them was passing. Soon, he'd be grasping at straws again. It felt nice to be this sure of something.

"I know," Rodimus said, EM-field pushing gratefully at Magnus.

Then he grinned. "Wow. _Wow_. Great desk, all I can say. Not sure it could survive the actual dictionary definition of _fragging_ , but still. Not bad."

Magnus mumbled something, embarrassed.

Rodimus reached out, still smiling, and tugged onto his shoulder stacks. Magnus bent down, reluctantly, and got another kiss on the nose.

"Why do you have to–" he muttered.

"I hereby deem you fit for duty," Rodimus announced. "But only starting from tomorrow."

Magnus shook his helm. "With all due respect, you are not my doctor. Captain."

There was a moment when Rodimus looked unsure, even lost, again – and Magnus got it. He was pretty sure that he got it. He didn't want to point it out, be even more obvious. He wouldn't reach for Rodimus’ hand now, trace the numbers, the way he took to doing when they were left alone.

He was pretty sure Rodimus got it too.

And the captain smiled again, and if it looked a bit strained, his second did not comment on it.

"Yeah. Yeah, I am."


End file.
